


Last Breath

by MiladyDragon



Series: Dragon-Verse: Series Two [19]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragon-Verse, Language, M/M, Magic, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-03 02:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8692537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyDragon/pseuds/MiladyDragon
Summary: Strange events are happening around the Hope Street area.  How do they link back to the newly re-opened Electro Cinema?  And what are the strange sensations Ianto feels from the place?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! This is the Dragon-Verse version of "From Out of the Rain".

 

**_4 January 2009_ **

****

It was cold and rainy, but that didn’t bother Ianto much at all as he followed Rhys up Hope Street.

It might not have bothered him or the Welshman leading them, but their other teammate, Patrick, was grumbling all the way, complaining about being out in this sort of weather and in January, no less. 

Wales had been through a spate of warmer weather, although this time it wasn’t because of the Rift.  Still, it had been pissing down cold rain since that morning, and puddles had formed all along the street and water was getting into Ianto’s shoes.  He stifled a sigh at that, wishing he’d changed out of his dress shoes before coming out with Rhys and Patrick; he’d be walking around squeaking while they dried out.  At least his suit was covered by his wool coat, and he wouldn’t have to worry about that all too much.

It wasn’t that Ianto was vain. 

Okay, maybe he was.  Just a little.  Not at all like Jack, of course.

When Rhys had invited him and Patrick to the grand reopening of the Electro, Ianto had jumped at the chance.  Being a native of a small Welsh village that could have been considered majorly behind the times – the only reason his inn had had internet was that Ianto had gone and ordered the satellite dish and had it installed – going to a real cinema had been an exciting prospect.  Of course, he knew it was a throwback to earlier times, yet to the dragon it was new and he’d been looking forward to it.

Rhys had asked the entire team, but Toshiko had declined, in the middle of a project she didn’t want to leave.  Deborah had had classes that evening, and Owen had been sarcastic about the whole notion.  Ianto could tell that the medic’s comments had hurt Rhys’ feelings a little, but then that was Owen: he didn’t have a polite bone in his body.  He really didn’t know how Diane stood him sometimes, but then he only really ever saw her over the internet.  Maybe distance was the key.

As for Jack, a last-minute call from UNIT had kept him busy and in the office, and he’d insisted that Ianto go without him.  The dragon hadn’t had a problem with doing just that, knowing he’d see his mate at home later.  Besides, Ianto genuinely liked Rhys, and spending time outside of the Hub with him and Patrick wasn’t a hardship at all.  And gaining a new experience was a plus.

The rain was coming down in buckets as the three men made their way along Hope Street.  Rhys had had to park a bit aways from the historic theatre, the road filled with parked cars, their owners hoping to get close enough that they wouldn’t get too soaked on their way to wherever it was they were going.  Still, it made for an impressive sight of the theatre as they came up to the Electro, lit brightly and looking like something out of an old film itself.

Rhys came to a stop for a second, and his face was bright with happiness.  “I can’t believe it’s reopening,” he said, audible over the rainstorm.  His hair was plastered to his head, water dripping down his face, and he didn’t care.

“Let’s get in before we catch our deaths,” Patrick groused.  “I’m not waterproof like you Welsh are.”

Rhys bumped shoulders with the American and then started forward again, toward the beacon that was the Electro Cinema.  Ianto was impressed by the building’s stone façade; it was classic and old-fashioned next to the other, newer, structures along Hope Street.  It looked almost out of place, but that didn’t matter.  It made its charm all that much more apparent.

They weren’t the only ones out in the weather.  As they approached, a couple ran to the doors of the cinema and let themselves in.  Rhys barely caught the door before it completely closed, ushering his teammates inside.

The lobby was as impressive as the outside.  Deep red carpet absorbed the water that dripped onto it.  Matching red wallpaper with gilt accents lined the walls, as well as vintage posters for films Ianto hadn’t heard of but now wanted to see.  A ticket booth was just inside, and an older woman was within it, wearing an old-fashioned jacket with brass buttons in two rows up the front and a small matching hat, taking the money of those who’d come by for the opening.  She smiled at Rhys as he paid for both Ianto and Patrick’s admission, despite both of them complaining about it.

“I invited you, didn’t I,” he answered as he put his cash in the small metal tray that dipped under the glass window of the ticket booth.  “It’s only right I pay.”

There were photos up as well as the posters, showing how Hope Street had looked back during the theatre’s heyday.  There was also antique equipment as well; an enormous projector had pride of place near the doors leading into the theatre itself, and Rhys stopped to admire it.  “My Tad would bring me here on Saturdays,” he reminisced fondly.  “They showed kids’ films then.  It was just us boys, out for the day.”

“Too bad the concession booth isn’t open,” Patrick complained. “Someone ate the last of the pizza before I could get to it.”

Ianto dug his elbow rather hard into the American’s ribs.  “It’s supposed to be educational.”

“Ow,” Patrick exclaimed.  “You have the sharpest elbows.  Besides, I need an education…in movie theatre food.”

Rhys laughed at them both.  “Come on, then.”

Ianto of course knew the history of the Electro; he’d done a bit of research after Rhys had asked him to come along.  The Electro had been in business since the early Forties, and had been damaged in the Cardiff Blitz during World War Two.  After the war, it had been rebuilt, and had been open until the early Eighties, when it eventually closed its doors.  The building had been purchased only last year by David Penn and his wife, Faith, who had decided to reopen the old theatre and make it a sort of museum as well as show older movies to a new audience of young people. 

The dragon was already planning on becoming a regular of the place.

There had also been a history of Rift activity, although the place had been quiet for the last decade or so.  Even as Ianto stood there next to Rhys, he could feel those old echoes, the faintest touch of chill fog against his skin.  He hadn’t known about the activity when he’d said he’d come, but he’d keep an eye out for any sort of odd happenings that would signal a resurgence of activity.

But then, a lot of places in Cardiff had seen at least some activity.  It was the joy of living on a Rift in space and time.

“Good evening, gentlemen!”

All three turned at the greeting.  The man standing behind them was wearing a nice suit, smiling at them in a friendly manner.  He must have been in his 50’s, and Ianto thought he might have been the owner, David Penn.  When he welcomed them to the Electro and introduced himself, that assumption was confirmed.

“You’ve done a wonderful job with the old place,” Rhys commented.

Mister Penn beamed.  “Thank you for saying so, Sir.  Please enjoy your time here.”  He ducked his head, and then made his way toward the ticket booth.  Although he didn’t mean to eavesdrop, sharp dragon hearing caught Mr Penn saying something about their son, and the film.  He didn’t seem to be very happy at the son’s lateness.

As if called by his father’s irritation, a young man came barrelling through the double doors, a can of film tucked under his sodden coat.  He heard him apologise and then start to say something, but the elder Penn sent him off to the projection booth without listening.

The boy darted up a small set of stairs that were partially hidden behind yet another red curtain, and Ianto guessed that had to have been the way up to the projector room.

But there was something…a tang of some strange energy that followed that boy up those steps, faint against the traces of Rift energy that permeated the very brick of the building.  Ianto wanted to find out what it was, if it was something he carried or was a part of him, but Rhys was already heading into the theatre proper, Patrick chatting with him about movies he used to see with his Granddad Canton.

The dragon made a mental note to check it out later. 

The trio took seats near the back of the large theatre.  Red curtains draped the walls, matching the carpet and the cloth of the seats.  There was a small stage at the front, where an upright piano sat; an elderly man was sitting on the piano’s bench, waiting for some sort of cue.  Another curtain covered the screen the piano was in front of. 

The theatre itself wasn’t crowded, but then the rain might have kept people at home.  Still, Ianto figured it had to have been a nice turn-out.

“I might have to bring Deborah here,” Rhys said.  “Since they’re gonna be showing classic movies here instead of any of that blockbuster shit.  She’d probably enjoy it.”

Ianto figured he was correct.  Deborah had a love of the older movies, and no patience whatsoever with the big budget special effects extravaganzas that were more and more taking the place of smaller, more personal, films. The dragon really didn’t go to the cinema much himself, preferring to spend the time with Jack in their home, watching whatever DVDs they had on hand.  Ianto had discovered a love for spy movies, especially James Bond, and Jack was always indulging him.

Still, he thought he might also enjoy some of the black-and-white features that the Electro was going to specialise in.  He would definitely try to find the time to tag along.  Such things were always better with company.

In fact, this might make a nice date night activity for him and Jack.  His mate very much liked the older movies, having been in Cardiff long enough to have perhaps seen many of them in cinemas like this one.

The man and woman climbed the steps up to the stage.  They both looked pleased as punch, the man nodding to the piano player as they crossed the stage to stand in the centre.

For a split second, Ianto thought he heard music.

The dragon frowned.  It didn’t sound like anything from a piano; it was more along the lines of a pipe organ, and it was only a couple of notes before it ceased.  He glanced around, but couldn’t make out the source. 

That sensation he’d had in the lobby returned. 

It wasn’t anything Rift related, not that he could tell…but it was certainly reacting to the energy saturating the very foundations of the building.  Ianto’s senses were on alert, and while he didn’t want to disturb his teammates who were listening as David Penn introduced himself and his wife, explaining what he’d done to the old Electro and the plans he had for the future of the cinema.

“As proud owners of the Electro museum,” he ended, “it is our privilege to be able to show you how the cinema and Hope Street looked in days gone by.  And if you watch carefully, who knows? You may even see long-dead members of your family waiting in the cinema queue.”

That caused some giggling from the audience.

Mister Penn turned to the man at the piano.  “Bernard.”

Bernard began to play as Mr and Mrs Penn left the stage, and the curtain over the screen lifted.

The film began.

Despite his concern, Ianto felt himself transfixed by the flickering images on the screen.  There were images of Cardiff in days gone by, old cars and even the odd lorry cruising down Hope Street.  People in clothing that had been fashionable after the War were highlighted, and Ianto found himself smiling at the suits he saw, recalling them easily from his memory of that time.

It had been a simpler time, after World War Two.  So many men and boys had been killed in the fighting; even in Ddraig Llyn they’d felt the loss of far too many.  Ianto himself couldn’t go to war, since it would have been obvious that he was not quite human when given the physical.  The valley’s resident doctor had gotten him out of it by faking up a physical condition, and it had held up through much scrutiny by wartime officials. 

He’d done his part, though.  Ianto had saved and rationed and done what he could without actually leaving Ddraig Llyn.  And, when the war was over and they’d mourned their dead, he’d been able to sing a mourning song for the brave men and boys who’d left to fight for freedom and had never returned.

The dragon had been really enjoying the scenes of Hope Street, when they suddenly changed.

“Where’d Hope Street gone?” Rhys sounded vaguely outraged at the change in subject on the screen.

That was a good question, and apparently the owner of the cinema thought the same; he’d gotten up from where he’d been sitting and stormed out of the theatre, most likely to berate his son on the film currently being shown.

Ianto could understand it. 

The ghost-like images on the big screen were of various types of circus performers. 

There was a pair of clowns, pratfalling.

Two men, juggling fire.

A man with his body covered in tattoos.

Another man, large and brawny, lifting a barbell.

A woman, covered in a glittering shift, dancing in front of a water tank.

A moustachioed man in a top hat, beckoning the audience from in front of a banner.

Someone on a high wire, balancing with the use of a long pole.

“Wait,” Patrick exclaimed, “was that Jack?”

It had certainly looked like Jack to Ianto, up there larger-than-life on the screen.  He’d been wearing what resembled a safari outfit down to the widely flaring jodhpurs, standing in front of a crowd…with a gun at his temple. 

The image flickered, and suddenly the gun was under Jack’s chin, and he looked as if he were haranguing the people watching.

Then it was gone, replaced by another shot of the clowns.

As Ianto sat there, watching the edited film, he noticed that the sensation he’d had before was growing stronger.  It was now like an extremely unpleasant itching against his nerves and it was all the dragon could do not to scratch himself in response.  There was also an odd smell, something like plastic and iodine, and his nose twitched with it.

“Ianto!” Rhys hissed.  He made a gesture toward his face.

It took Ianto a few seconds to realise that his eyes had changed into their dragon aspect.

He quickly blinked them back to human normal, glad it was dark enough in the theatre that no one noticed.  That hardly ever happened, his not having control over his reactions like that.  “Something’s going on,” he whispered back, not wanting anyone to overhear.

“Is it the Rift?” Patrick asked.

It was a good guess, but Ianto didn’t think it was that easy.  He was about to say so when the film stopped, light from the projection booth over their heads vanishing and leaving the place in complete darkness. 

Ianto felt…well, he didn’t know what he felt, but it was as if something brushed past him in the dark.  He jerked and spun around, cursing now that he hadn’t kept his eyes at their sharpest, the best to peer through the blackness.

Still, he was able to catch a glimpse of a shadow…two shadows…pass along the curtained walls and out of the theatre.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**_4 January 2009_ **

****

Jack sighed, leaning back in his chair and feeling his back creak slightly.

It wasn’t that he minded talking to Colonel Mace; he respected the man quite a lot, and they got along reasonably well.  But really, did the UNIT head have to call and share the latest London Christmas near-catastrophe?  It was almost as if the colonel had been calling to fish for information, to which Jack had to wonder just what made Mace think that Jack had anything more to do with the Doctor’s shenanigans?  He’d obviously stopped that spaceship from crashing onto Buckingham Palace, and that was all that mattered, right?  And Jack hadn’t been involved in it anyway.

His empty mug in hand, he got up and headed toward the kitchen, where he knew Ianto had left coffee before he’d gone out with Rhys and Patrick.  Jack sighed as he poured the cold remains of his last mug into the sink and then got himself fresh.

He’d been looking forward to going out with at least part of his team.  He’d heard about the Electro from Rhys when the Welshman had been gushing about the re-opening, and it had intrigued him.  Also, Ianto had done a check on the cinema, and had discovered a history of Rift activity, which had also made him curious.  But really, it had been the idea of being with his mate in a place that was not the Hub or their home that had had him really excited to go.

Besides, the idea of being in a dark movie theatre with his dragon…

But no, Mace had had to call at the last minute…and while normally he would have blown the colonel off, Mace had made it seem important enough for Jack to insist the others leave without him.  But it had been a bust, and so Jack was in the Hub without his mate.  At least he had Toshiko for company, even though she was neck-deep in coding…

And then, he heard it.

It was unmistakably a pipe organ, brightly playing.  It didn’t last too long, but it was enough to get his attention.

A shiver went up his spine.  Something wasn’t right.

He took the steps down into the main Hub, to where Toshiko was at her station.  She’d been in the middle of another section of coding for her translation matrix, and hadn’t wanted to leave it, saying that she’d only have to start all over again on this section if she stopped where she was when the others had gone.  There was an open binder propped up against one of the trio of monitors, and she was squinting at it through her glasses as she typed.

“Tosh?” He hated to interrupt her, but he had to know if he’d somehow imagined that music.

She made a noise that sounded like assent, but she didn’t look up from what she was doing.

“I heard this sound. An old sound, like a pipe organ.”

That had her looking up at him, puzzled.  “What?”

“Did you hear anything?” Her response pretty much had answered him, but he wanted to confirm it.

“No.”  She went back to work. 

That was him told.

He couldn’t let it lie, though.  “Is there a circus in town, or a travelling fair, something like that?”

Toshiko snorted.  “On a night like this? They'd be wasting their time.”

She had a point.  It was raining buckets outside; not a night that anything would even want to be out in.  “Rhys would know…”  What the Welshman didn’t know about what was going on in Cardiff wasn’t worth knowing.  It was him that gave Deborah information that the Tourist Bureau didn’t furnish.

“Rhys isn’t here…” she said distractedly. 

Jack knew that, but didn’t snap at her answering his rhetorical comment.  

The music though bothered him.  If it had somehow been Rift related, the monitoring programs would have alerted them.  No, something else was going on.  He needed to find out what it was.

Jack went back to his office, not sure what he could do to figure that out.

He decided to go to the digital Archives.

That was the first thing Ianto had done when they’d taken over Torchwood: digitise the Archives while cleaning up the mess that had been left behind by the previous Torchwood Three team.  The people Yvonne had put in place while Jack had been on the run hadn’t been able to gain access; Jack had been just that paranoid and had locked down the entire lower sections, which had included the Archives and mainframe.  They still hadn’t been able to get in by the time Jack and Ianto had arrived, although they’d been close.  He’d been pretty certain that mainframe hadn’t cooperated with them, either, over it.

He hadn’t gotten very far into his search when his mobile rang. 

Jack smiled when he saw the caller ID.  “Having a good time?”

_“Jack,”_ Ianto’s voice was tense.  _“You need to get to the Electro.  Something’s going on here.”_

“I’m on my way.”  Jack was up and had his coat on in seconds.  He called out to Toshiko on his way out, “Keep an eye peeled, Ianto called and said there’s something up at the Electro.”

He didn’t wait to hear her acknowledgement.  He was out of the Hub and climbing into the SUV.

 

**********

 

Jack parked the SUV practically onto the sidewalk outside the Electro, throwing the door open almost before he had the vehicle in park, leaving it running with its blue emergency lights strobing through the pouring rain.  He dodged a couple just coming out of the cinema as he made his way inside, eyes darting about, searching for his mate and his team. 

He immediately caught sight of Patrick and Rhys.  Both men were standing almost at a parade rest in front of a pair of doors that had to have led into the theatre itself, resembling a pair of coppers standing guard over a crime scene.  No one else in the lobby though seemed to be paying the pair the least bit of attention, although an older woman wearing a sort of period uniform was giving them the side-eye from where she stood at a partially hidden narrow stairway. 

“Jack,” Patrick greeted him as he approached.

“What’s going on?” It had to have been something fairly serious if Ianto had them on duty like that.

“We’re not sure.”  Rhys looked slightly disturbed and bothered, and Jack figured it was because weirdness was going on within the building that had held so many good memories for him.  “We were watching the film – and something was up with _that_ , to begin with – when Ianto went all…” He waved his hand in front of his face, which Jack translated as meaning _all dragon-y._ “And he said something was wrong.”

“I thought it was the Rift,” Patrick added, “but he wasn’t so sure.”

“Asked us to make sure no one else came in,” Rhys finished, “not until you got here.”

Jack absolutely trusted Ianto’s instincts.  The dragon had senses that no one else did; he’d always been able to tell when there was going to be a Rift spike seconds before it happened.  Hell, he could sense the vortex within Jack himself, even if he’d thought at first it was magic and not time.  If Ianto had felt something was wrong, then Jack was willing to go along with it. “Get into the SUV.  There’s a Rift activity locator in the kit.  I want readings all throughout this place.”

“You got it,” Patrick glanced at Rhys, and in silent communication arranged who would stay on guard and who would go out to the SUV.  The American strode out of the cinema, dodging through the remainder of the crowd.

Pulling one of the doors open, Jack entered the theatre. It was fairly standard for the cinema: rows of seats leading down to the large screen, which was currently covered with a deep red curtain that matched the other drapes that lined the enormous room.  Jack had to walk underneath the enclosed balcony where the projection booth must have been to get into the theatre area proper. 

Ianto was standing in the aisle, his back to the immortal, facing the obscured screen.  His back was stiff and Jack could actually see the tension in his shoulders under his dark suit jacket.  He was familiar enough with his dragon to know that Ianto was trying to work something out in his head, just by his posture, and while a part of him didn’t want to interrupt he had to find out just what had set his mate’s senses and intuition off.

Jack stepped up behind Ianto, close enough to feel the dragon’s heat though his clothes.  He had no doubt that he was aware of Jack’s presence even though he didn’t react.  He wanted to touch Ianto, but when he was in this sort of mood Jack knew better than to offer any sort of comfort, and to just let the dragon work things out.

“It was strange,” the dragon’s soft voice came to Jack’s ears, as if he didn’t want to disturb whatever was going on in the theatre by speaking in a normal tone.  “I felt…it wasn’t the Rift.  Something was going on, but it wasn’t something I’d ever experienced before.  And then, when the film stopped these…shadows moved past me.”

“What kind of shadows?”

“I don't know. They weren’t clear to me.”  There was a quiet sigh, barely audible.  “Something else…you were up there on the screen.  Large as life.”

Jack’s brows lowered.  As far as he knew, he’d never been in a movie before.  “What was I doing?”

“You were on some sort of stage ... outside a big tent. You seemed to be part of a travelling show.”  There was the bare hint of curiosity in the dragon’s voice, and Jack just knew he’d have been all over that piece of information if he wasn’t already distracted by what he’d experienced. 

Still, he hadn’t been aware that someone had actually caught his act on film.  That was faintly disturbing in a way; he hadn’t wanted any sort of evidence of that long-ago assignment. 

Instead, he said, “I heard it. Heard its music. Just a snatch of it.”  It was obvious now; what had gone on in this cinema had travelled to him at the Hub, like an echo of the past catching up with him.

Well, history _did_ have a tendency to do that sort of thing.

But it was worrying.  When he’d been with the travelling show, he’d been undercover, and it had been unsuccessful at best, and hellish at worst. 

Jack didn’t like it one bit.  He’d have preferred to have left this deeply in the past where it belonged.

“That film was beautiful,” Ianto said wistfully.  “All those acts performing for us, part of history, trapped on film forever.  We never had any sort of travelling show come through Ddraig Llyn, so seeing it like this…”

“Their days were numbered,” Jack admitted.  He felt a pang of sadness at that thought. “Cinema may have saved their images, but it finished off the traveling shows.”  It was the way of things, coming and going without consideration.  “Killed them.”  That was far too close to the truth, really. 

Jack didn’t want to stand there any longer.  “Let’s go talk to the projectionist about that film.”  It was obviously the root of what had occurred in that theatre, and he had some questions about it. 

Concentrating on that might help the sudden surge of disturbing memories that bringing up his stint in the travelling show brought on.

He turned on his heel, stalking back up the aisle, knowing that Ianto would be right behind him without turning to check.  Whatever had been in that film had obviously mesmerised his mate, and Jack just knew that the so-called shadows that Ianto had seen had to be connected somehow.  Had something come through the Rift somehow without the instruments at the Hub reading any sort of spike?  If it had been before he’d admitted to the team about the negative spikes he would have said yes, but Toshiko had long ago programmed their presence into the alerts. 

Yet Ianto had been certain it wasn’t the Rift.  Could it have been magic?  Despite Jack’s innate cynicism about magic, he’d seen enough evidence of it now to accept that he didn’t know everything.  Hell, his own daughter was magical; as was Estelle.  Plus, there was that whole memory wiping incident several months ago that hadn’t been Retcon.  The Great Dragons were enough proof of the supernatural for several lifetimes.

But Ianto would have said if it was magic.  The dragon recognised that sort of thing, being a creature of magic himself.  Jack was certain of that.

No, whatever it was, they needed to find out and stop it if it proved to be dangerous.

They passed Rhys at the door again, who nodded in acknowledgement.  Jack could see Patrick using the Rift activity scanner in another part of the lobby, being watched like a hawk by a man and the woman from before, who Jack assumed were the owners of the Electro.  He couldn’t blame them for being suspicious.  He would have been as well if a stranger was waving a weird device around their establishment.

“I think we should look at the film,” Ianto suggested.

Jack agreed without the dragon needing to elaborate.

He took the steps up into the utility sections of the cinema.  The staircase was narrow, lit by a couple of bare bulbs that were almost blinding after the soft lighting of the theatre.  There were doors in the equally narrow hallway at the top of the stairs, and Jack easily found the one that led to the projection booth.  He entered the small room; it was cluttered and smelled slightly damp, two large projectors taking up the majority of the space. 

There was a young man also in the projection booth.  He looked to be in his early twenties, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a very nervous nature.  He was wringing his hands and staring at one of the projectors, looking as if he thought it was about to attack him.

He jumped a foot in the air at Jack’s entrance. “You shouldn’t be in here!” he squeaked. “Customers aren’t allowed!”

Jack stepped forward and around the young man, his eyes on the projector.  He couldn’t see anything wrong with it that would deserve to have it glared at like that.  Then he turned to regard the young man.  “Captain Jack Harkness,” he introduced, giving him a wide grin and hoping to put him a little at ease. 

That got him an incredulous look, but the young man answered, “Jonathan Penn.  My folks own the cinema.”

“Well, Jonathan,” Jack went on, “this is my associate, Ianto Jones.  He was here for the film.”

Jonathan’s dark eyes darted in Ianto’s direction, where the dragon was standing on the other side of the projector, and the dragon gave him a rather bland smile.  “If you want a refund, you need to speak to my Dad,” the young man stammered.

“That’s not why we’re here,” Jack assured him.  “We want to know what happened during the film.”

He was trying to be soothing, and it seemed to work; Jonathan’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, thank God, someone actually noticed!”

“Can you tell us what went on?” Ianto asked.

Jonathan’s head bobbed in a sharp nod.  “It just went crazy!” He gestured toward the projector frantically. 

“So, you say the projector went haywire?”  Jack watched as Ianto’s eyes began examining the machine, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“Yeah!  I even switched the main power off, and it still kept running, playing those film clips. It's like it had a mind of its own!” 

Jonathan looked as if he didn’t believe what he was saying, and Jack couldn’t blame him one bit.  It sounded insane…but then that was what Torchwood dealt with.  He’d send Patrick up here with the scanner once they were finished talking to Jonathan.

Ianto reached over and switched the projector on.  It cranked up a bit noisily, the light flickering as the film ran.

It seemed perfectly normal.

The dragon switched the machinery off, and it rattled to a halt.  He quirked an eyebrow at the young man.  “Seems fine to me.”

“Yeah it does,” Jonathan agreed miserably, as if accepting that he was crazy and that these two strangers believed it as well.

“So,” Jack cut in,” where did you get the film?”  Something strange was definitely going on, and he was willing to bet it had to do with whatever the hell Jonathan had been showing.  That made the most sense even without Ianto having suggested it.

“From the basement, here,” Jonathan answered. “There were stacks of cans. See, I've been compiling old footage of Hope Street and the Electro for the opening night, but the circus clips weren't on it. I swear!”

Jack fought the shiver that crawled up his spine.  Jonathan seemed oblivious to his reaction, but he could feel Ianto’s eyes on him intently, as if he was trying to read Jack’s mind.  His instincts were telling him that the travelling show clips that Ianto had mentioned and now had mysteriously appeared on the edited film were the root of everything that had happened so far.  “So,” he said, confirming what he was already thinking, “the film that was shown wasn't meant to be here?”

Jonathan looked relieved that someone actually believed him.  “No, and that's what's so scary. I mean, it kind of played itself.” He visibly shuddered. “It's like it wanted to be seen.”

Sentient movie film?

Well, Jack had certainly heard of stranger things.

“Like something tried to get through?”  He couldn’t tell where that idea had come from, but it fit what they knew.  The film wanting to show itself…Ianto’s shadows…

Jack really didn’t want to consider what his mind was telling him.

Jonathan was nodding vigorously.  “Yeah! And there was a sound, like ... uh ... old-fashioned music? Played on an organ or something. There was also a face looking out at me.  And there was a smell, like ... uh ... like bromine. Or iodine.”

“Like film itself,” Ianto murmured.

This was looking worse and worse.  Had something come through the film?  And how had it done that without the Rift to power it?  That left magic, but Ianto would have sensed that easily.  This must have been something they’d never encountered before.

It left far more questions than they had answers… which of course, they didn’t have at all.

But Jack was dreading what came kicking up out of his memories.  He didn’t want to think about it, because it was one of the few things he’d failed at, and if _they_ were coming back…

How was that possible?

Although them being magic made a lot of sense now that Jack had mostly accepted its presence in the universe.

He still needed more proof before he could let the team know his suppositions.  He just hoped they turned out to be wrong.

Jonathan was nodding again.  “That’s right.”

Jack gestured toward the projector.  “And this is the film?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Ianto’s nimble fingers were opening the projector and removing the reel of film. 

“We’ll need to take this with us,” Jack said.

Jonathan shuddered again.  “You’re welcome to it!”

Suddenly Jack’s comm beeped.  He touched it.  “Go.”

Toshiko’s voice echoed in his ear.  “ _Jack, the systems here are behaving very oddly_.  _And I heard the sound you mentioned.  That fairground sound?”_

“Can you trace the source?”  Jack was glad that he hadn’t been the only one; he needed confirmation that it was indeed connected to what was going on.

Ianto was watching him, holding the reel with both hands, his knuckles white.  Jack realised he was without his comm; after all, it was supposed to have been a night off with friends.  Why would he have needed to bring it with him? 

“ _No_ ,” the tech expert said dejectedly. “ _But there was a peak in Rift activity at the Electro. Then nothing. Plus, I'm recording unusual Rift traces nearby_.”

So, what they were dealing with did have something to do with the Rift.  It made Jack wonder just why Ianto wasn’t sensing it then.  “Where?”

“ _Chain Lane_ ,” came the response. “ _Runs parallel to Hope Street. Sending the co-ordinates to your wrist strap now_.”

There was a beep, and Jack flipped up the cover of his Vortex Manipulator.  There they were, just as Toshiko promised.  “We’re on our way.”  He disconnected from her, and then turned back to Jonathan.  “If anything else weird happens you call me immediately.”  He gave the young man his phone number.  “And I mean immediately.”

“You bet I will!”

Ianto packed the film away in an empty canister.  “Ready.”

“Then let’s get Rhys and Patrick and head out.”

 

**********

 

It didn’t take long to get to the source of the newest signal.

It was a bus stop at the corner of Chain Lane.  The rain was beginning to let up a little as the four men got out of the SUV and headed toward the covered stop, where a woman was seated.

She looked perfectly normal until they got closer.  Jack couldn’t help but notice how pale her skin was, and the skin about her mouth looked strange; dry and puckered, as if it was chapped from being out in the wind for far too long. 

Only there wasn’t any wind.  There was only the cold and the rain.

Patrick sat on the bench beside her, waving his hand in front of her face.  She didn’t react at all, not even when he took her wrist to feel for a pulse. 

“Epileptic?” Jack enquired.

Ianto checked.  “There’s no tag to say so.”  He reached into her coat gently, looking for an ID.

“She’s got a heartbeat,” Patrick reported, “but she isn’t breathing.  And this around her mouth…I don’t know what it is, but it looks cracked and dry.”

Jack touched his comm.  “Toshiko, we’ve found a victim of…something, here.  Call for an ambulance to this location.  Also, get Owen to meet us at the hospital.”

_“I will.  What’s going on, Jack?”_

“I wish I knew, Tosh.  I wish I knew.”

 

********** 

 

Jack hated hospitals.

He hated the smell; a sharp, actinic tang of antiseptic mixed with sickness and despair.  He hated the supposedly soothing colours of the walls and the coldness of the flooring tiles.  He hated the silence so thick it could only be cut with a vibro-knife; a silence that was only broken by the beeping of machines keeping horrible time with failing hearts and dying bodies.

Of course, not everyone in hospital was going to die, but it just felt that way to him.

He felt helpless to do anything for the poor sods there, which made it worse.

Jack stood at the foot of the bed, watching Owen working.  Ianto was outside, standing guard; Rhys and Patrick were liaising with the police who’d shown up in the wake of the ambulance Toshiko had called for.  Neither Kathy nor Andy were on duty; it was a sour-faced older constable, PC Koenig, who’d been on scene and who was intently questioning the pair of Torchwood operatives out in the waiting room.  It was apparent he didn’t much like Torchwood, and Jack couldn’t bring himself to care.  Not when this poor girl was fighting for her life.

They knew her name was Nettie Williams.  She’d been visiting a friend and had been on the way home when whatever it was happened to her.  Her parents were also outside in the waiting room, and were most likely witnessing the disagreements that had to have been going on between his men and the copper who was refusing to cooperate. 

He’d played with the idea of calling Kathy and having her intervene, but decided against it.  He didn’t want to interrupt her night; from what Toshiko had said her folks were in town visiting for the New Year, which was why Toshiko was working late.  She’d told Jack that she’d wanted Kathy to have time alone with her family before they left to go back home, and while she did like Kathy’s parents very much there was only so much time she could spend with them.  Toshiko wasn’t quite that social a creature.

Owen sighed, standing upright. “Any witnesses come forward?” he asked.

“No.”  Nettie had been alone at that bus stop as far as they’d been able to find out.  “Have you been able to communicate with her?”

“No. No change in her condition.”

Jack’s shoulders slumped.  Whoever had done this to her needed to be stopped, and they had no clues to go on.  “Motor response?”

“Non-existent. They're treating it as a coma.”

“And they’re wrong?”

“Totally.”  Owen ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “There's no signs of cerebral dysfunctions, no symptoms of hypoxia, and her body's dehydrated.”  He glanced down at their victim.  “You know when a spider sucks the liquid out of its victims?  Well, this is a bit like that, except they've left her partly alive.”  He sighed. “She couldn't cry about it even if she wanted to, poor kid. She's got no tears.”

This was something Jack hadn’t run into before.  He couldn’t come up with a single alien race that would leave its victims in such a state.  He could completely understand his medic’s frustration. 

The room’s door suddenly burst open, and Jack spun, automatically reaching for his Webley.  He relaxed when he saw that it was Ianto, but he wasn’t alone…a nurse and an orderly were wheeling in a gurney, on which lay an older woman wearing an apron over a smock and jeans.  “There’s been another one,” the dragon announced, somewhat unnecessarily Jack thought.

Owen was at her bedside in a heartbeat, checking over their newest victim.  “Who is she?” he demanded, as he ran his finger along her mouth.  Even standing back as he was, Jack could readily make out the tell-tale dryness about her mouth and nose.

“We don't know,” the nurse that had accompanied the patient replied. “The paramedics found her. It freaked them out.”  Jack could certainly understand that; he was somewhat freaked out himself. “She was lying in an open doorway. Looking like this.”  The young woman waved her hand over the body.

“Where was this?” Jack asked, watching closely as Owen made his examination.

“Corner of Hope Street, from what I heard,” the nurse said.

Hope Street. 

There was no doubt in Jack’s mind that what occurred at the Electro and these two victims.  He wanted to ask Ianto if he’d sensed anything about them, but with the nurse in the room he didn’t dare.  There were so many things they didn’t know about this case, and they really needed answers before anyone else was hurt.

“It’s the same,” Owen confirmed.  “Heartbeat, but no breath.”  His eyes met Jack’s.  “She’s been drained of moisture.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**_4 January 2009_ **

 

“This makes no sense,” Owen was saying as the five members of Torchwood strode down the hospital’s hallway, and toward the exit.

Ianto had to agree.  What had been done to those two women wasn’t within their current frame of knowledge.  They needed to know more before what had done this claimed another victim.

“They're almost dehydrated and possibly brain-dead,” Owen went on, “and yet, somehow the two women are still with us.”

“So, some part of them has been taken elsewhere?” Jack surmised grimly. 

“Well, it sounds impossible when you put it that way,” Owen scoffed.

It did, but Ianto felt that Jack was onto something.  The dragon sensed that; they were missing something vital to their very existences.  He could feel the absence deep within his soul; his mother had been adamant about trusting the hearts of people, but he sensed there was nothing there to trust any longer.

“For the body to be alive,” Jack continued, “there must be a life force somewhere. Yet they've separated it, and stolen it.”

“Who has the power to do that?” Patrick asked.

“I don't know.” His mate wasn’t at all happy. “But we need to find out fast. Two people chosen at random. Who's next?”

That was the question, wasn’t it?  Whatever was causing this had to be stopped, but they didn’t have any place to start. The dragon only had his senses, and they weren’t telling him a damned thing.  It wasn’t the Rift…and it wasn’t magic…

Ianto stopped dead in his tracks, causing Rhys to almost bump into him.  There was a muffled curse as the Welshman halted.  The exclamation brought the rest of the team to a halt.  Jack’s face was confused as he turned.  “What?”

“I don’t have any proof,” the dragon answered, “but I’m beginning to wonder if somehow magic is combining with the residual energy at the Electro and it’s what’s behind all this.”

It made sense…at least it did to him.  He could see the other members of his team digesting his supposition, and judging from at least Jack’s expression he was buying into what Ianto was saying. 

“Is that possible?” Rhys asked.  Of anyone present, he would be the one to grasp the magical end of things, being from a somewhat magical background. 

Ianto shrugged.  “I have no idea, but then anything’s possible.”

“That’s something to explore,” Jack allowed.  “Right now, though, we should get back to the Hub.  I want to look at this film we got from the Electro.”

Ianto wasn’t really looking forward to that, but Jack needed to see it for himself.  Perhaps he’d notice something in it that would help.

And, he certainly hoped to get more of an explanation of just why his mate had been a part of some sort of circus.

 

***********

 

By the time they got back to the Hub, Toshiko had a projector set up in Jack’s office, a sheet pulled taut along one wall to use as a makeshift screen. 

Ianto had to admit just having that can of film in close proximity was making his teeth itch.  Now that he’d decided that it was some sort of bizarre mixing of magic and Rift energy causing that creepy sensation he could almost ignore it…almost.  It still bothered him but he was willing to put up with it for the time it took to get back to the base.

He handed it off to Toshiko, who threaded it through the sprockets on the ancient projector she’d dug up from the Archives…with Ianto’s permission, of course.  The dragon was very proprietary toward his Archives, and he trusted Toshiko not to make too much of a mess down there without him supervising.

The only one not present was Deborah, and Jack had told Toshiko not to call her in just yet.  Their PA was taking night classes at Cardiff University, and he hadn’t wanted to bother her until there was actually something for her to do.  Ianto agreed with him; there really wasn’t anything for Deborah to do and it hadn’t been necessary for her to come in just to hang around.

Rhys cut the lights once Toshiko was ready.  She flipped the projector on, and the team watched as Hope Street sprang into view.

It was as Ianto had remembered it; images of Hope Street as it had once been, bustling with people and cars that were now long gone. It brought a feeling of nostalgia, even though Ianto had not lived in Cardiff back then, and Ddraig Llyn had been a very different place from the city. 

That feeling didn’t last though, when the images from the travelling show appeared.

“I knew those two,” Jack commented as the clowns appeared.  “They argued day and night.”

Ianto glanced at his mate.  If he expected to see any sort of fondness for that time to be on Jack’s face, he was disappointed.  There was strain around those blue eyes, and a muscle flexed in the immortal’s jaw.

Then, as the high wire act left the screen…

“That _is_ you!” Patrick accused.

Toshiko rewound the film.  And there was Jack again, in that improbable costume, with a gun at this temple. 

“Bloody hell,” Rhys swore.  “Just when I think I’ve seen everything…”

“I told you,” Patrick said smugly.

“You did stand up?” Toshiko teased.

“I never did stand up,” Jack denied, laughing.

“Okay then…a song and dance.” 

Considering Ianto had seen Jack do both, he could understand exactly why Toshiko would say that.

“I was sensational,” Jack smirked.

“What were you doing there, Jack?” Ianto enquired.

That earned him a somewhat shifty look from his mate.

“He was part of that freak show,” Owen laughed.

“Some things never change,” the immortal said dryly.

Owen looked back over his shoulder from where he was sitting.  “Are you being rude about me?”

No one answered; but then, no one really needed to.

The film had moved forward, this time showing the tattooed man flexing his arms.  “I love his leotard,” Patrick simpered.  That earned him a paper wad tossed at him by Rhys.

On the makeshift screen came a group shot of all the performers, waving toward the camera.

Jack stiffened.  From where Ianto was standing, he couldn’t help but miss his mate’s reaction.

“The Night Travellers,” Jack murmured.  “This is what I was afraid if.”

“The what?” Ianto asked.

Instead of answering, Jack said, “Roll that back, Toshiko.”

She did as he asked, and the group shot came back into view.

“So, they did exist,” Jack whispered.

“Did you work with these people?” Patrick was turned in his own seat, the better to look at Jack.

Jack shook his head.  “I didn't work with them.  I never knew anyone who did. They only performed in the dead of night. Anyway, it was just a tale that was around at that time…a ghost story. _They came from out of the rain_ ; that's how people described them.” 

He sounded off, as if he hadn’t wanted to admit what he just did.  Ianto couldn’t blame him, really; Jack hated talking about his past, and this case was bringing something back that he obviously didn’t want to dig up once more. 

The dragon wondered about these Night Travellers.  Had they been magical, and Jack hadn’t realised it?  His mate hadn’t really believed in magic until a short while ago, so how had his explained these obviously supernatural beings?  Because that was what they were, and Ianto suspected this was where the magic part of what was going on came from.  How had that old magic come to affect the Rift energy that had saturated the Electro?  What had that combination done that caused what had hurt those poor people in hospital?

Because there wasn’t a doubt on that in Ianto’s mind.  Whatever had been set loose from the Electro had affected those two women. 

“What did these Night Travellers do?” Rhys asked.

“Left a trail of damage and sorrow wherever they performed.” 

It was a cryptic answer, but Ianto didn’t call his mate on it.  Instead, he asked Toshiko to run the film back, chewing his fingernail as he watched once more.

“What is it?” she murmured.

“Not sure…” he answered honestly. 

There was something different about the images, and he had half an ear on what Patrick was now asking.  “That had to have been years ago, right?”

Jack shrugged.  “Eighty odd years. Then the travelling shows faded away. No one came to watch them and without an audience they died out…forgotten. Until all we have to remember them by were these film clips.”

He almost sounded sad, but the dragon couldn’t worry about that at that moment.  Because he now saw what his subconscious had been trying to tell him.

“Jack,” he interrupted the conversation going on around him.

It brought the team discussion to a halt, all staring at him in varying degrees of confusion. 

“This film.” He pointed at the screen.  “It's not the same one we saw at the cinema.”

“Of course it is,” Jack argued.  “You packed it up yourself.”

He had, but that didn’t deter the dragon in the slightest.  “No; things are different.”  He turned to Toshiko, standing by at the projector.  “Run it again please?”

She did so.

“It was easy to miss at first,” he explained.  “But after watching it again…” he faded out, watching carefully for the right moment. 

When he found it, he had Toshiko stop the film.  “There… there was a woman standing there in front of that water tank.”

The frozen image showed the tank…but the woman was gone.

“You’re right,” Rhys confirmed.

“Yeah,” Patrick agreed.  “She was wearing almost next to nothing.”

At Ianto’s prompting, Toshiko started the film once more.  As soon as he found what he was looking for, he had her stop it once more.

“And there was a man,” the American added, “wearing a top hat.  Some sort of barker maybe?”

“He was beckoning down toward us,” Rhys added.

There was a banner on the screen, but the man who’d been in front of it was no longer there.

“So, what are we saying?” Toshiko asked. “That two people from a piece of film have decided to go AWOL?”

That was exactly what they were saying.  Ianto recalled the two shadows that had passed him in the darkened theatre.  The scent of plastic, or iodine…of course, it had been the smell of old film, and he should have figured that out the moment he’d taken that reel of film out of its projector; when Jonathan Penn had mentioned smelling the same thing. 

“Somehow,” Ianto said absently, “the Rift and some sort of magic merged and created these walking pieces of film.” He felt, down in his very bones, that this was the right answer.

“Yeah,” his mate agreed. “Like you said back at the Electro…trapped in film forever. When they opened the cinema, it gave them a chance. When that kid ran the film, he let them loose.”

“They became physical.”  Toshiko looked vaguely horrified.  “Whatever magic these Night Travellers possessed…interacting with the residual Rift energy in that building…”

Jack’s face was sour.  Ianto knew it was a leftover reaction to his mate’s former disbelief in magic.  “We need to find out more about the havoc they caused in the past. We need evidence. Possible witnesses.”

“Research,” Rhys said, rubbing his hands together.  “After all this time…could be tricky.  Town and parish records?”

“Yes,” Ianto agreed.  “Newspapers as well.  Anything that might even relate back to what’s going on now.”

“As far back as you can,” Jack ordered. “We don't sleep till we find them. Toshiko, keep checking for sightings. There's got to be a way of tracing them.”  Toshiko nodded, acknowledging the order. “Rhys, with me…I need your local knowledge.”  With that, he swept out of the office.  Rhys followed, looking glad to be doing something.

“Should I be jealous?” Ianto teased as his mate left the office, attempting to bring a bit of Jack’s intentness back a bit.

Jack turned and winked at him. 

Mission accomplished then.

The dragon just shook his head, then headed toward his station to start his research.  He’d begin in the Archive records and then get have Toshiko get into the digital records of Cardiff itself.  Patrick could help him search those.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

**_4 January 2009_ **

 

Deborah sighed, beginning to wish she hadn’t volunteered to take Carolyn home.

It wasn’t that it was necessarily out of her way.  It was, a little; but Deborah liked driving – getting her license had been one of the first things she’d done when settling in the 21st century – and usually didn’t mind helping a person out. 

And Carolyn was in her project group for Tax Law.  The two of them – and Paul and Mandy – were beginning work on a large project for their class, and it was easier to get together after their lecture and work on it together.  That was what they’d done tonight, and she would be getting back to her flat late, but Deborah didn’t mind.  She didn’t have to be back into work until around 8am, and by 10am she’d be expected to open the Tourist Office, so being late wasn’t that big of a deal.  Plus, her bosses were very understanding.

It was just that Carolyn could be a bit…flighty.  They’d had a couple of classes together last term, and Deborah could tell she had interests that simply didn’t align with Deborah’s.  They could co-exist within their little group with no problem, but the young woman was already beginning to realise that this was about the extent of their relationship.

It didn’t help that she really didn’t have a clue as to what Carolyn was talking about.

She supposed it was a difference in outlook.  Yes, Deborah had acclimated quite well to this time; she’d taken to her new conditions very quickly, finding the new freedoms she had to be thrilling and wanting to explore them all.  Back in her own time, she had been expected to marry early and be a housewife.  Here, she didn’t have that sort of expectation laid on her.  She could be whatever she wanted to be, and her future was wide open.

Deborah, though, found herself wanting to stay with Torchwood.  Yes, she was taking classes at Cardiff University, but they were mostly to aid her in becoming more of a help to Ianto.  He’d once told her that Torchwood was run much like a business, and she’d taken that comparison to heart. 

This current course in Tax Law, for example.  She was aware that Torchwood, while ostensibly above the government and such, still paid things like payroll and property taxes, even though the Hub itself had been a grant from the Throne and was thus exempt there were still various safe houses about Cardiff that had to be reported.  Ianto, on top of all the other things he did in the Hub, was responsible for the returns that had to be submitted every year, as well as the budget that went to the Privy Purse. He also administered to all of Torchwood’s accounts, including those left behind when Torchwood One fell, and from what he’d told her they were considerable. 

Deborah wanted to be able to take over those tasks from the dragon, freeing him up for other, more important, things.  Thus, the current course she was taking, and all the others she’d done.  It helped that she really enjoyed them all, and found a niche for herself.

She knew she’d never be a field agent.  She simply wasn’t cut out for that sort of thing, even though Jack and Ianto had trained her to use a stun gun and even one of the Torchwood issue firearms.  Patrick had kept up that training, so she was quite proficient in their use.  But that was only so she could protect herself, not to get stuck in on missions.  Torchwood was a dangerous place, and while she was officially an employee of the Welsh Tourism Board she actually received her pay from the Institute accounts.  She was also, technically, one of their first lines of defence, at her post in that small office on the Quay that hid one of the entrances to the Hub.

But now, she was giving a lift to someone whose idea of entertainment was watching silly reality shows.  Deborah couldn’t see the purpose of them, to be honest.  They were completely mindless…although, she supposed to some people that was purpose enough.  Still, that didn’t mean she needed to know what the newest round of _Big Brother_ was all about.

She’d read _1984_ , thank you very much.  She worked for an organisation who took that sort of thing to a whole other level.  It didn’t make sense to her to actually enjoy watching shows that spied on people for entertainment purposes.

Deborah let Carolyn’s chatter flow over her as she turned toward Hope Street, where Carolyn lived.  The rain had slackened up quite a bit, for which Deborah was grateful.  At least it wasn’t bucketing down like it had on her way into University.

A man and a woman suddenly appeared in the road in front of the car.

Deborah slammed on the brakes, bringing her small car – it had been a gift from Ianto – to a halt before she could hit either of them.  Her heart was hammering in her chest as Carolyn was demanding to know what the hell was going on.  “I didn’t want to hit them…” She waved toward the front of the car, but the oddly dressed pair had vanished.

“Hit who?” Carolyn demanded angrily. 

Deborah frowned.  “But they were right there…a man and a woman…” 

Alright, something strange had just happened, and she couldn’t explain it.  But then, this was Cardiff, and she was Torchwood, so strange wasn’t out of the ordinary.

Still, she needed to phone this in to the Hub.  People vanishing was something Jack and Ianto would want to know about.

Deborah reached for her bag in the back seat…and she saw a man staring in the passenger side window at them.

She didn’t have the time to call anyone.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**_4 January 2009_ **

 

“How many other old cinemas are there in Cardiff?” 

Jack was frustrated.  He and Rhys were set up in the boardroom, going through public records for any other cinemas that might have access to the sorts of film that the Night Travellers had been released from.  They couldn’t risk them getting out into the world another way.

But their search was going slowly. 

They needed to be doing something other than sitting and waiting to see what would happen next.  Jack was a man of action, and though he recognised the need to research a problem he didn’t have to like it all that much. 

Besides, as much as he liked Rhys, and needed the help of a Cardiff local, he’d really prefer to be doing this sort of thing with Ianto.

Yes, it was personal, and he really shouldn’t be that way.  He should trust his team and play to their strengths, and Rhys had been born in the city.  He knew his way around; he was the one who always knew where things were happening, and would share that knowledge with Deborah in order to help in their cover.  After all, Deborah herself wasn’t a native, in any sense of the word, being from a completely different time _and_ city. 

“Most have been pulled down,” Rhys reported, tapping on the keyboard in front of him.  Pictures of several different cinemas flashed up on the large screen on the wall.

Jack looked at them all, frowning.  “What about the others?”

“Converted.”  Rhys entered something else, and a map appeared with a marker stuck in it.  “This one is a pub. Four-pint jugs for a fiver and girls in free before eleven.”

Jack sighed.  This really wasn’t getting them anywhere.  He wondered what the others were getting up to.

As if summoned, Ianto appeared, bearing mugs of coffee.  Rhys thanked him, leaning back in his chair and sipping his drink.  Jack took his, fingers brushing against his mate’s in a silent gesture of gratitude.

“So,” the dragon began, leaning against the large table.  “Just what are we dealing with here?”

Jack stifled a sigh.  He should have expected this; he was only surprised that Ianto had waited so long to corner him and ask.  “No one ever knew the Night Travellers were coming. They'd just appear from nowhere.” He took a steadying sip of his coffee, gathering his thoughts.  “Not like the team I was with. We'd send out flyers, bang drums, blow whistles…getting as much attention as we could.”

“It still sounds a bit nuts that you were with a travelling show,” Rhys commented.

Jack shrugged.  “Ours was a small company. Working the UK. Trying to find paying customers.”

“But that wasn’t just it, was it?” Ianto enquired knowingly.

He shook his head.  “I was sent to investigate rumours of the Night Travellers.”

“By Torchwood, of course.”

He sent a look at his dragon that communicated his silent acknowledgement.  “I was billed as the Man Who Couldn’t Die.”

A flash of pain crossed his dragon’s face.  Jack was grateful for it, knowing that his mate cared that he’d been hurt, even if it had been in the line of duty.

It had been a difficult time, his investigation.  Dying several times a night, in front of audiences, hadn’t been pleasant.  Still, compared to being murdered in so many terrible ways by the Master every day it had been a piece of cake to simply shoot himself.   “The Night Travellers always found an audience.  They knew where to look.”

His comm chirped, saving him from further explanation. 

_“Jack,”_ Toshiko called, _“you need to come and see this.”_

He was up and out of his seat in a heartbeat, glad for the interruption yet at the same time worried about what Toshiko had found.  Rhys and Ianto following, the immortal headed out into the main Hub, making a beeline for Toshiko’s station.  Patrick and Owen were already there, looking over the technician’s shoulder. All three were frowning at what they saw.

“What is it?” Jack barked as they approached.

“I’m picking up the sea,” Toshiko answered, waving toward her monitor.

Jack was confused.  Of course she would be; after all, Cardiff sat right on the bay…

She must have seen his confusion, because she elaborated.  “It’s running inland, through the centre of town.”

He glanced at the monitor she indicated, and sure enough…there it was, a pattern of water inundating Cardiff where water should not be.

And, just as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone.

“Damnit,” Toshiko swore.  “I could actually hear seagulls!”

“And there was the smell of salt,” Patrick confirmed. 

“It was well freaky,” Owen added. 

“What the hell are they up to?” Jack fretted. 

This had to have been the Night Travellers, although where the sea came into it he had no idea. 

“It was the girl,” Ianto answered his unspoken question.  “The girl with the water tank.  If she had some sort of water power…”

“I could call Rhiannon,” Toshiko interjected.  “She’s the Friend of Water.  She might have some sort of idea what sort of magic we’re dealing with.”

“There was absolutely nothing in the Archives.” The dragon was frustrated. 

Jack knew he hated not knowing everything, or at least having information at his fingertips.  He was a bit surprised that there hadn’t been anything even mentioned in the Archives, at least the ones they’d appropriated from the wreckage of Torchwood One.  After all, he’d been sent undercover; there should have been records.

“The Night Travellers couldn’t have performed at the Electro,” Rhys pointed out, in an obvious effort to break some of the tension.  “The cinema’s too new for that.”

“It was a perfect storm of circumstances,” Jack said, running his hand through his hair.  “According to Jonathan Penn, those film canisters had been in the basement of the cinema for decades, just soaking up the Rift energy from the building.  Hell, they could have been the cause of the Rift activity there, way back when.”

“The Night Travellers themselves must have had some of magic,” Ianto added.  “It could very well have been transferred to the films when they were made.”

Rhys was nodding.  “That magic and the Rift energy did some sort of weird combining thing that we don’t really understand yet.  They’d been waiting there for their chance.”

“And when they were found,” Patrick went on, “it was their opportunity to escape.”

It all made sense.  His team was right.  As much as it galled Jack – and it did, even after all he’d seen and experienced – to admit that he’d been dealing with magic all those years ago, before he’d even believed in it, it really was the only explanation.  It took into consideration Ianto’s weird sensations at the Electro and when those shadows had escaped.  The water signals in the middle of Cardiff as well.  And the conditions of the victims so far.

The sound of his mobile ringing made him jump.  Jack tugged the phone from his pocket, not bothering to check the caller ID.  “Harkness,” he snapped, not even trying to hide just how irritated he was about the entire situation.

_“Captain Harkness,”_ a vaguely familiar female voice said, _“it’s Nurse Clarke…”_

Jack stiffened.  He knew her now; she was the nurse caring for the two victims they had so far.  She’d promised to call if anything happened.  “What can I do for you, Ms Clarke?”

_“The police just brought in two more victims,”_ the woman reported, _“and Captain…one of them had your number listed as emergency contact…”_

**********

 

Nurse Clarke – an older, professional appearing woman with grey hair pulled back into a severe bun – met Jack, Ianto, and Owen at the nurse’s station.  “Thank you for getting here so quickly,” she greeted them.

They followed her down the hallway, Jack’s heart pounding fit to burst.  He had no idea who the latest victims were, only that one had had his phone number on them.  It could have been any number of contacts that he had throughout the city, and that was worrying him.  The nurse wouldn’t give him a name over the phone, saying that the police had taken any identification into evidence, which angered Jack to no end.  He was well aware that PC Koenig was an asshole, but this was taking it to extremes.  He’d have to have a little chat with the man’s superior about impeding an investigation.

“From what I know,” the nurse explained as she led them along, “they were found in a car, near Hope Street.”

Hope Street again.  It seemed as if the Night Travellers were staying in the same area, although what that meant at the moment was beyond Jack. 

Nurse Clarke went on.  “Two young women, in their early twenties.  Both University students from what I overheard the police saying.  That one PC practically ordered me not to call you, but he’s a twat so I ignored it.”

Jack decided then and there that he adored the stern-looking nurse. 

“I’m a Cardiff native,” she said fiercely, “and while I don’t know what Torchwood does, I know it doesn’t do to keep you lot out of whatever’s going on.  And this is just so far beyond anything we here at the hospital know…”

She came to a door, and pushed it open.  Within the room, there were two beds…each with a woman in it, attached to machines and with IV’s.  They were both young, one brunette and the other blonde…

Jack’s heart sank as he recognised the blonde.  “Oh no…”

Owen was immediately at the bedside, checking her over even as Ianto let loose a string of curses in Welsh and a couple of other languages Jack was certain were dead ones. 

“It’s the same,” the medic reported.  “Heartbeat but no breath…and she’s been drained of moisture.” He sounded absolutely gutted.

Jack couldn’t blame him.  He felt exactly the same way.

Each one of them thought of Deborah as family, and to see her lying there, so still…it was one of the most horrific things Jack had seen.  She was _his_ , and someone had done this to her.

“They came from out of the rain,” he muttered before he could stop himself.  It was what everyone whispered about the Night Travellers, something he remembered as he stood there, shaking in anger, looking down at the young girl who’d survived so much and yet had become the victim to the bastards who’d somehow escaped from a film they should have stayed trapped within.

He needed to stop them, before anyone else ended up like this.  He already felt as if he’d failed Deborah.  He was determined not to let that happen again.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said, looking at him strangely.  “But what did you say?”

Ianto and Owen were staring at him as well, and he realised that what he’d said had been clearly audible to those in the room.  He wanted to explain, but he couldn’t, not in front of the civilian nurse standing there, her face puzzled at his words.

“Nothing,” he denied. 

“No…you said _they came from out of the rain_.” The nurse had been startled by that, and Jack narrowed his eyes at her, silently demanding her to explain what he’d meant.  “Those words.  I’m sure I've heard  
them before…” Her voice faded as she considered. 

Jack wanted to reach out and shake her.  This could be important.  How could this nurse have heard those particular words before?  It was only something that had just come back to him earlier that night, and had uttered as he’d hovered there, staring down at the motionless form of a young girl he thought of as a daughter, who shouldn’t have been in the line of fire in this case.  She should have been at class, or at home, and nowhere near Hope Street to get caught up in this. 

She was an innocent bystander, even though she was as much a member of his team as anyone else.  In this, she’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

It just proved that no one was truly safe.  Jack hated that feeling of helplessness, that he couldn’t even protect his family…how could he hope to keep the unknowing people of Cardiff safe as well?

A smile graced Nurse Clarke’s face as she said, “It was Christina.  She was a patient I saw.”

“Here?” Ianto demanded.

“No, at Providence Park.  I used to work there. She was a full-time patient, been there since she was a child. She was a strange one. Whenever anything, any kind of entertainment show was laid on, she became scared. She'd run away and hide.  I remember because of that.”

“Did she say why?” Jack once again resisted the impulse to reach out and shake the information out of her.

“Yes…she said they were coming to steal her last breath.”

Jack glanced at Ianto, and then at Owen.  The medic was nodding, as if he was reaching a conclusion that Jack wasn’t quite at yet.  He once again looked at Deborah, and mentally tracked her condition…and then knew just what Owen had figured out.

Nurse Clarke left the room, as if sensing that the three of them needed the privacy.  The moment the door closed, Owen was speaking.

“That makes sense.”  He looked as if he wanted to pace, but there wasn’t enough room for him to do so.  “The heartbeat, but the lack of respiration.  These creatures have stolen their breath away.”

It sounded insane, but Jack had seen far too many things to discount it.  “And it looks like we might have a solid lead.  Owen, I want you to stay here.  I know you can’t really do anything for them, but I’d feel better if you were here with Deborah.”

“Try and make me leave,” Owen growled.

Jack was grateful for his determination.  “Ianto and I are going to speak to this so-called patient out at Providence Park.  I think we might have our first real witness.”

 

********** 

 

Official visiting hours at Providence Park were over, but Jack was determined to speak to the woman named Christina.  He had this feeling that time was running out, and he didn’t want to wait for morning in order to get any information she might have on the Night Travellers.

He and Ianto played the Torchwood card, and managed to get in to see the elderly woman.  He could tell that she’d once been beautiful, with full white hair and brilliant blue eyes.  She was in a wheelchair, too frail to stand on her own, and Ianto offered to push her toward the institution’s public areas, it being late enough that it was deserted, the residents in their rooms for the night.

Christina was confused with their presence, and asked who they were there to see.

“We’re here to see you,” Jack assured her gently.  He explained what they wanted, and a shadow passed over Christina’s face as she digested that information.

Ianto parked the chair beside a sofa, where he and Jack sat, the better to be at eye level with her.  It was obvious she was uncertain of them, but Jack thought the very relief that someone might believe her story would eventually win out.

“They came from out of the rain,” she finally said, “at night. They came to our village.”

“How old were you at the time?” Ianto enquired, his voice pitched low as not to carry.

Despite the bright lights of the public area, Christina’s face was shadowed in memory.  “Oh, just a child. Five, I think, or six.”  Her eyes darted to them both.  “Your eyes…they’re older than your faces.”

Jack felt a small chill creep down his spine at those words, but he plastered a smile on his face to hide his discomfort.  He didn’t even have to see Ianto to know he was somewhat rattled by the observation as well.  “Is that a bad thing?” he asked, trying to play it off.

The older woman looked at them both solemnly.  “Yes. It means you don't belong. It means you're from nowhere.” 

That hit a little too close to home for Jack.  Yes, he wasn’t a native of the planet, but he did consider it his home now, and it would be as long as Ianto wanted him to be there.  To be told that he didn’t belong was like a knife to the heart.

Ianto must have known something was wrong, because he tried to get them back on topic.  “Christina, tell us about them. The people who came out of the rain.”

The shadows reformed around her eyes.  “There was music…hurdy-gurdy music. Acrobats, and a man with fire in his hands.”

Jack thought back on the film he’d seen, and she was describing the people that had been on the screen.  He had no doubt that she was describing the Night Travellers.  This was it, their first real proof that they were back.  “Who else was there?” he prodded, needing more from her.

“A man in dark clothes,” she said, “and a woman. A beautiful young woman in a silvery costume. She seemed to glisten.”  Her voice took on a dreamy quality. 

That matched the descriptions of the man and woman missing from the film.  Jack edged forward in his seat, reaching out and taking her hands in his, needing to anchor her back into the present.  He didn’t want her to get lost in her memories. 

Those bright blue eyes darted toward Ianto.  “They touched you.  I can sense it.”  Then her eyes narrowed.  “There’s something else…you’re of this world, you have roots deep within the Earth itself…you’re not what you seem…”

Jack had to wonder if there was something of the mystic in this elderly lady.  He knew it took someone truly magical to recognise the dragon within the façade of the young man sitting beside him, and made a note to contact Estelle and get her out there when this was all over.  Perhaps the Cardiff coven could help Christina where psychiatrists had failed.

He could tell Ianto was surprised by her insight, and so took the questioning back.  “Tell us about the man, Christina.”

That distracted her from Ianto’s otherworldliness.  “Oh. Uh, he spoke to me. He asked if I would like to join the travelling show.”  Her mouth turned down, and somehow that expression looked alien on her face.  “He took a kind of flask out of his pocket. It was polished like silver. I asked him his name.”  She shuddered, the chair squeaking slightly under the movement.  “Oh, I shall never forget it. I never shall. He said he was the Ghostmaker…”

That sent a wave of fear through Jack.  They had a name now, and he couldn’t help but be frightened of it in some visceral way he couldn’t explain even if he wanted to. 

Christina’s hands flexed in his, knobbly knuckles almost frail under his grasp, as if she wanted to hold him in place.  “He wanted to...” she swallowed hard, “take my breath and put it in his flask. He said I could travel with his circus, I would be in his audience forever.”

The flask.  That was the key.  Jack needed to get that flask, because if he could he felt he could help those that the Ghostmaker had affected.  They had a goal.  Now they needed a plan.

“What happened then?” Ianto asked. 

“I turned and ran away as fast as I could,” Christina answered, suddenly fierce. “People went missing from the village that night. My mother, my father...”

Jack squeezed her hands.  “We believe you.”

That was what she needed to hear.  Christina didn’t break down and cry, but there were tears in her eyes.  “Thank God,” she choked.  “Thank God…”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this one! Then on to "Damaged", the Dragon-Verse version of "Adift", which is very short because Andy Davidson shows a lot more sense about things.

**_4 January 2009_ **

 

The team – minus Owen, who was still at the hospital with Deborah – was gathered in the boardroom.

Ianto had coffee out for them all.  They’d all heard about Deborah by the time he and Jack had gotten back from Providence Park, and it was a subdued group who sat at the long table, all in varying degrees of disbelief or anger.

Ianto thought that, of them all, Patrick was the one more affected by what had happened to Deborah.  They’d really bonded during that case with the Nostrovite, Deborah taking care of Patrick while the American had been incapacitated.  His fingers kept clasping and unclasping his mug convulsively, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he silently clenched his teeth.  Ianto could tell their weapons expert wanted to be up and doing something, but in that moment there really wasn’t a lot he _could_ do.

Jack let Rhys have the floor.

“Okay,” the Welshman began, “here we go. Church Stretton, 1901.”  He typed something into his keyboard, and a newspaper clipping appeared on the large plasma screen.  The newspaper was the Church Stretton Crier, dated 11th August 1901; the headline practically screamed, ‘Number of Missing Rises to Eight’.

“People went missing when a travelling show visited the town.”  He typed another command. “And there was one earlier on, 1898. A small village called Wellsfield.”  This page looked to be a bad photocopy, but the banner was clearly readable.

“These disappearances,” Patrick took up the report, “there's a lot of old wives' tales attached to them  
through the years. People still alive but being deprived of breath, children being told to hold their breath while the travelling show passes by.”

“And then there’s this.”  Another newspaper story appeared at Rhys’ words.  “Yeah, this local paper didn't take it seriously.”  This newspaper was the Hunstanton Chronicle, March 1911. “ _Police and doctors were left both amused and baffled when Mr. Alfred Mace insisted that his dead wife could be brought back to life providing a certain flask could be found_.  The poor sod reckoned that his wife's last breath had been taken and put in a flask.”

“A silver flask,” Jack repeated.

Ianto knew this was the Ghostmaker, using whatever magic he had to steal away people’s last breaths.  He wondered just how many people had been buried alive and no one had realised, simply because they weren’t breathing and no one knew enough to check closer.  He couldn’t help but shiver a bit at that.  Had they known their loved ones were laying them to rest?  Had they been trapped within their own bodies, aware of what was going on and not able to communicate that they were still alive?

“The last breath of each victim,” he whispered.  It tallied with what Christina had told them.  “It’s how he makes his so-called ghosts.”

“And that’s Deborah laying in that hospital bed,” Patrick added bitterly.

“We’re going to stop them,” Toshiko vowed.  She laid her hand over Patrick’s, trying to settle the man’s obsessive clenching.  “We’re going to get that flask and get Deborah back.”

“We can save her,” Jack agreed.  “Her…and the others they hurt.”

Ianto made his own silent vow…that nothing was going to stop him from achieving that goal. 

The Earth Dragon’s song within his mind flared up at that personal vow. 

Toshiko’s eyes met his, and she nodded.

 

***********

 

**_5 January 2009_ **

****

It was morning before anything in the case broke.

Ianto was in Jack’s office, having just delivered coffee and a Danish that Rhys had went out and got from the local bakery.  The moment he set the plate down on Jack’s desk his mate’s stomach rumbled, so he knew the pastry was appreciated.

They’d managed to find more records of weird things happening that could be linked back to the Night Travellers.  Disappearances, deaths…it was fairly simple to pick out their trail once they knew what to look for.  They’d apparently vanished in the 1940’s, and nothing else could be found.  There were no clues as to why they’d ceased their actions, but Ianto suspected it was because they were filmed, and that the very nature of the Night Travellers’ magic caused them to be trapped on the film until it had been reshown at the Electro.  It had taken the extra jolt from the established Rift energy inherent in the building that had given them the extra boost to free themselves.

It fit the facts that they had. 

It also explained the odd feeling he’d had at the Electro.  It had been the magic of the Night Travellers combining with the Rift energy giving him those strange sensations.  He’d never experienced something like that before, but from now on he’d remember and know what that sort of thing felt like…hell, now they knew it could actually _happen_.  Up until that point the dragon hadn’t even considered the notion.  He wondered if the Cardiff coven had ever come up against that before.  He’d have to ask Estelle about it.

They’d worked through the night, and Ianto could tell it was beginning to wear on the rest of the team.  He and Jack could stay awake for days without sleeping, but the others were ephemeral.  He’d tried to get them all to go home for a couple of hours, but to a person each had declined.  And, with Owen sitting with Deborah at the hospital – not that he could do anything to help her, but Ianto could understand why he’d want to stay with her.  He was their doctor; despite his abrasive nature Owen truly cared for the team.  Ianto was aware that he would have moved Deborah to the Hub if he’d felt it would have done any good.

No, what they had to do was find this Ghostmaker and get that flask. 

Jack ate in silence, and Ianto was willing to let him.  He was familiar with his mate’s thought processes, and could tell that he was deeply within his own mind, working through everything they’d learned about their enemies.  That was Jack’s way, and if anyone could come up with a way to defeat the Night Travellers, it was his mate.  Ianto had that much faith in him.

Jack had just stuffed the last of his Danish into his mouth when his mobile rang.

It was an unexpected noise in the silence of the office, and Ianto almost jumped off the desk in surprise.

“Harkness,” Jack answered, swallowing down his breakfast.  He was silent for a moment, and Ianto could make out panicked words on the other end of the line, muffled against Jack’s ear.  “Give me the address.”  There was another pause.  “Alright, we’re on our way.”  He hung up, jumping to his feet and collecting his Webley.  “That was Jonathan Penn.  He had some sort of intruder in his flat.  I’m positive it’s that woman from the Night Travellers from his description.”

Ianto didn’t hesitate.  He helped Jack on with his coat and then grabbed his own plus his gun, going for the lethal weapon instead of his usual stun gun.  The rest of the team began mobilising as well, Patrick arming up and Rhys also holstering his gun.  Toshiko was off her seat and had a scanner in hand, shrugging on her own coat.

“I want the rest of you to stay here,” Jack ordered.

That earned him several angry retorts, but the immortal was firm.

“Ianto and I are going to check something out, but I want the rest of you on standby in case the Night Travellers strike again somewhere else.  Toshiko, keep monitoring; we’ll need to know if there are any more signs.”

Each one of them grumbled but did as Jack bid, which was a testament to their trust in their leader. Ianto knew that they all wanted to do something, that Deborah was foremost in their thoughts, and to stand down had to gall each and every one of them.

“We’ll call if we need you,” the dragon assured them all as they headed out.

“You better!” Patrick called out behind them.

The drive to Jonathan Penn’s flat was done in silence.  It was as heavy as a storm cloud within the SUV, and it made Ianto twitchy.  The seriousness of the situation weighed on them both; this could be the break they’d been hoping for. 

Although why they’d be at Jonathan’s flat Ianto couldn’t guess.  Jack had surmised that the reason the Night Travellers hadn’t moved much beyond Hope Street was that they couldn’t, bound as they were to the building they’d been freed in.  Ianto believed he was right; there were certain acts of magic that set up certain parameters that had to be followed, and he thought this might be one of those.  He hadn’t gotten around to calling Estelle as yet; Jack had wanted to wait until it was certain the elder witch was awake.  Ianto had agreed; Estelle wasn’t getting any younger, and both of them were careful of her.

Ianto had been thinking about adding a magical member of the team at some point…perhaps someone trained by the coven.  He really needed to speak to Jack about it, get his mate onboard with the idea.

They arrived at Jonathan Penn’s flat; it was in a warehouse that exited from a small mews onto Hope Street, not that far down from the Electro.  Jonathan was waiting outside, pacing jerkily, his hands flapping as he moved.  The moment he spotted them, he was at the SUV; his eyes were wide and his face pale.

“Thank God you’re here,” he exclaimed.

Ianto pulled his gun from its holster; Jack did the same, and together they followed the young man into the dusty interior of the warehouse. 

Jonathan took them up a set of rickety metal steps and onto the top storey of the building.  Light filtered through gaps in the aluminium roof, stirring dust motes that dissipated with their approach.  It wasn’t a place anyone should have been living in the dragon’s opinion; rattletrap and unsecure, and he wondered what had attracted the boy to this building in the first place.

They made their way toward a corrugated door at the far end of the level.  “Tell me again who’s in there?” Jack demanded quietly, his gun pointed toward the ground, his body relaxed yet at the ready for anything.

“A woman,” Jonathan answered, still sounding fairly panicked, “lying under the water in my bathtub. I thought she'd drowned!”

“Anyone else?” Ianto enquired, his own gun in both hands and aimed downward.

Jonathan shook his head sharply. 

The woman had to have been the one in the film that Ianto suspected controlled some sort of water magic.  Toshiko had managed to get in touch with Rhiannon, who had volunteered to come to Cardiff and help, but Ianto had told her to stay home.  The Friend of Water had outlined certain spells that the mysterious woman might be able to use, and the dragon felt as prepared as he possibly could be without strong magic at his call.

Jack reached up, and Ianto could see that the lock on the door had been jemmied.  His mate pulled the rickety thing open, and entered, gun first. 

Jonathan crowded in behind Jack, and the dragon could barely control the eye roll.  It wouldn’t have been any good keeping him out; besides they didn’t know the lay of the flat, and the young man could be useful.

The place was a disaster zone.

Pieces of film hung from clips on lines of twine, and were also on the floor, looking trampled.  Several pieces of ancient-looking second-hand furniture had been overturned. Broken and battered pieces of equipment lay on every available surface, although there was a nice editing set-up spread across a desk at the far side of the room.  There were empty film cans all over the place.

Ianto couldn’t decide if the flat had been tossed or if it was just naturally this messy. Possibly a combination of both.

Jack glanced at Jonathan, who pointed him toward a closed door between two shelving units, covered in dust and old books on what looked like film editing.  Jack led with his gun, Ianto behind, and together they entered what appeared to be a bedroom, just as cluttered as the front room had been, only with a bed and dresser, clothes scattered over every available surface. Ianto unconsciously wrinkled his nose at the mess. 

A bathtub was on a raised section of floor, water puddled around the rusted claw foots at its base.  Jack stepped up onto it; gun pointed at the filled tub…

There was no one inside.

The woman was gone.

Ianto wanted to curse.  Their only lead…disappeared.

Jack holstered his gun, face stern.  “So, they haven’t left.”

“This just lends credence to your assertion they can’t,” Ianto said, putting his own gun away.

They went back out into the front room, were Jonathan was forlornly picking through his belongings.  “All my cans of film are open,” he said mournfully.

Ianto examined the room.  He wondered just why the Night Travellers were going through Jonathan’s old pieces of film.  “What was on them?”

“Clips from the circus sideshows.”

Jack knelt down, picking up one of the damaged pieces of film that littered the concrete floor.  He held it up to his face, his eyes darting as he examined it closely.  “They’re going to try to bring more through.”

Ianto closed his eyes briefly, considering his mate’s words.  Of course.  That made sense.  The two Night Travellers now knew they could escape their prison; they would of course attempt to retrieve their compatriots from the films.  To do that, they’d need to get back to the Electro.  “We need to stop them.”

Jack tapped his comm.  “Patrick…Rhys…meet Ianto and I at the Electro.  We think our two Night Travellers are going to try to bring more of them out of the film.”  He disconnected from the Hub, then stood up. 

“What’s going on?” Jonathan demanded.  Well, he tried to, but came out sounding whiny.  “I need to help my Mam and Dad!  If something’s happened to them…”

He was right.  If the Night Travellers had gone back to the Electro, then David and Faith Penn would be in very serious danger. 

“There’s that smell again,” the boy said, “like chemicals.”

Ianto had noticed it from the moment he’d set foot into the little flat. 

“And that woman,” Jonathan went on, “she grabbed me.  But her hand, it was different.”

Movement drew Ianto’s attention back to his mate.  Jack was rummaging about on the desk, picking up an old-fashioned looking hand-held film camera.

Jonathan rambled on, not seeing what Jack was doing.  “It wasn't like a hand. It wasn't like flesh. It was…it was like touching a piece of plastic, a piece of celluloid.”

“They were on this film for eighty years,” Jack said, almost to himself. “Became part of it. What if we filmed them?”

Ianto regarded his mate, mind turning over that plan, trying to find any sort of fault.  “A film of a film?” He was dubious.

“Yeah.  They’d be trapped again.”  He looked at Jonathan.  “Is this thing loaded?”

The young man nodded almost frantically. 

Jack swept out imperiously.  Ianto wanted to roll his eyes at it, but managed to only follow his mate out of the flat.  Jonathan’s scuffed footsteps on the stained concrete echoed behind.

“If they were trapped on film before…”  Jack and his long legs were eating up the space toward the stairs leading to the ground floor.

“Then they can be trapped again,” Ianto concluded, matching him step by step.  It did make sense.  If the original filming had captured their essences on film then it was possible it would work again.

Jack suddenly stopped, and Ianto did the same; Jonathan almost skidded to a halt.  Jack had a contemplative expression on his face, as if he’d just come up with a plan.  “Let's suppose they're made of camphor and nitrate,” he said, “made of shadows, made of light. Just enough light.”

It clicked with Ianto in that moment, and he wanted to kiss his mate as a reward for his brilliance.  “We film them. Capture them in that ...” he gestured toward the camera.

“...then expose the film to as much light as possible.”  Jack was now grinning like a maniac.

Ianto couldn’t help but return it as he finished his mate’s thought.  “Of course! We'd blank them out, we'd lose them.”

The smile fell from Jack’s face as he added, “Let’s hope so.”

Ianto reached out and touched Jack’s arm. “It will work.”

Jack shook his head, grinning fondly.  “This is one of the reasons I love you, Ianto Jones…you have faith in me and my hare-brained schemes.”

Ianto’s comm beeped, and he could tell that Jack’s had done the same.  He listened in as Patrick reported that he and Rhys were at the Electro.  How they got there that fast the dragon didn’t know, but it had to have involved the breaking of several traffic laws.  Or else they’d disregarded Jack’s orders and had already been enroute.

_“Something’s happening inside,”_ the American replied.

“We’re on the way.”  Jack nodded, and Ianto returned it.

Together, along with Jonathan Penn, they left the warehouse and headed toward the Electro.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the end. Next up: "Damaged", the Dragon-Verse version of "Adrift". It's only a one-shot, because it's Andy and he gets it.

**_5 January 2009_ **

 

They could make out Rhys and Patrick outside the doors of the cinema.  Rhys was rattling the door; it was obviously locked.  Both looked relieved as Jack and Ianto approached.

As they got closer, Ianto could hear the distinct sound of music coming from within the historic cinema.  There hadn’t been any shows planned for today, according to the marquee, so there shouldn’t be someone inside to play the piano. 

“What’s going on in there?” Jack demanded.  “Do you have keys?”

Jonathan pulled keys from his jeans pocket but he fumbled with the ring so badly that Jack had to take it from him and open the door himself.

Jonathan darted past him, shouting for his parents. Ianto heard Jack curse as they followed the young man through the lobby and toward the piano music, playing joyfully from the theatre beyond.

“Patrick, you and Rhys wait here,” Jack ordered.  “If anyone comes out, stop them if you can.  If you see that damned flask…”

“Grab it and run,” Rhys finished. 

Their captain nodded once in response.

Ianto could feel that distinct sensation of Rift and magic comingling, and it was just as disturbing as it had been the first time the dragon had sensed it.  It jangled across his skin and he wanted to scratch, but managed to keep both hands on his gun as Jack led the way into the theatre proper, holding not his gun but the film camera that he’d taken from Jonathan’s flat.  It would be the best weapon they had in the upcoming confrontation. 

The first thing Ianto saw though was Jonathan kneeling in the aisle next to the still forms of his parents, who were seated in one of the rows at the back of the theatre.

Ianto’s heart went out to the young man as he called out to them, trying to get them to awaken.  There were tears on his cheeks as he pleaded with them, but they didn’t respond.  He thought of Deborah, lying so still in that bed in the hospital, and felt the exact same way that boy did.

“Get him out of here,” Jack urged.

Ianto took hold of Jonathan’s arm, using some of his higher than average strength to pry the sobbing young man away from his parents.  Jonathan struggled, but Ianto managed to get him out of the theatre just in time for the projector to click on. 

“Stay out here,” the dragon ordered.  “We’ll take care of your folks, alright?”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but Jonathan nodded.  “You promise?”

“I promise,” Ianto swore.  “Find somewhere safe and stay there until we come and get you.”

“Alright then.”  Jonathan gave him one final look, and then retreated out of the lobby through the door that led into the box office. 

Ianto met Rhys’ and Patrick’s eyes, nodding.  The Welshman had taken up a position at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the projection booth, while the former FBI agent was at the front doors.  Both were armed and were ready for anything.

Ianto played with the idea of sending one of them to check out who was in the booth, but decided against it.  He didn’t want either of his friends to end up like Deborah; and they’d need all the back-up they could get if this plan of Jack’s went south.  Not that he expected it to; it was a sound idea, and the dragon didn’t think it would fail.

He went back into the theatre to join his mate.

Jack was kneeling behind the last row of seats, the film camera up to his eye as he recorded what was happening up on the stage.  The film was running; the woman who’d been the first to leave their celluloid prison was there, helping down one of the two clowns that had been tumbling across the screen.  The second clown was waiting up on the stage for his partner to get down, and followed immediately afterward.

That meant that the being known as the Ghostmaker had to have been up in the projection booth, running the film.

The feeling of Rift energy and magic increased, and Ianto’s nose itched at the scent of iodine and cellulose that marked the film’s participants coming back into the world.  He squatted down next to his mate to watch as more and more of the Night Travellers emerged from the film, until there was none left.

At that point, Jack was up on his feet, backing away from the group of Night Travellers in front of the screen.  The woman was haranguing them, promising them things that Ianto swore to himself would never happen.  They weren’t getting out of there, not if he and Jack had anything to do with it.

They made it back out into the lobby just in time to hear Rhys shout, “He’s here!” followed by a loud thump.

Ianto spun just in time to see the Ghostmaker in his filthy and anachronistic clothing stepping over the prone Rhys, who’d obviously been taken down with some sort of punch.

Patrick aimed his gun at the creature, but somehow the Ghostmaker managed to dodge the bullet and make toward the exit, the gleaming silver flask in his hand.

There was only one thing Ianto could do.

He darted forward, slamming his shoulder into the Ghostmaker, the suddenly overpowering scent of camphor and iodine filling his nostrils as he made a grab for the flask.

He wrapped his fingers around the cold metal and yanked.

The Ghostmaker lost his grip on it.

Ianto had only one chance.

He made a break for the outside.

The dragon practically flung himself out the doors of the Electro, pounding down the street as fast as he could run.  He had more stamina than a human; he could sprint for longer periods of time.  Ianto had only one thought: get that flask away from the Ghostmaker, out of his reach so he couldn’t get it back.

His dress shoes clacking against the pavement, Ianto ran.  He ran for this team, for this planet…and for one very special young woman, who lay helpless in a hospital bed, with her last breath firmly held in his hand. 

It was enough motivation for anyone.

He made it to the small mews outside of Jonathan’s warehouse. 

But, somehow, the Ghostmaker had made it first.

A cold hand touched his shoulder. 

Pain lanced through him, and Ianto howled with it.  Something was scrabbling for the flask in his hand, but he wasn’t about to let go.  Too many people were counting on him to keep a hold of it, and so that was what he was going to do.

He managed to shrug the Ghostmaker off, and triggered his transformation, holding onto the flask as tightly as he could.

The dragon roared.  His claws were far too large to keep his grasp on the flask, so he did the only thing he could do:  he slammed it onto the ground and covered it with one massive hand.

“What are you?”

The dragon looked down at the Ghostmaker.  His eyes were wide in terror as he stared up at him. 

Good.  He wanted this creature frightened of him.

“I am your doom, petty thing,” he growled. 

The twisted magic was even more powerful now that he was full dragon.  It tasted like bile on his tongue, like sickness and terror.  This sort of power shouldn’t exist, and yet it did, in the form of the vile creature that cowered before him.

But then, the Ghostmaker shuddered violently.

His body tearing impossibly, he vanished into thin air, his scream fading away on the breeze. 

“I am your doom?” a teasing voice laughed. “Could you be any more pretentious?”

The dragon turned to regard his mate.  Jack was standing just inside the mews, the camera in one hand and a strip of exposed film in the other, a flirtatious smirk playing about his lips.  Patrick was at his right shoulder, a huge grin on his face, and Rhys wasn’t far behind, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“It seemed appropriate at the time,” the dragon answered primly. 

The smile left Jack’s face as he asked, “Did you get it?”

The dragon daintily lifted his claw, revealing the flask.  “Did you doubt me?”

The expression on his mate’s face was beatific.  “Never.”

 

**********

 

The flask lay empty on Jack’s desk. 

They’d gone immediately to the hospital, after restoring David and Faith Penn and leaving them and their son in a relieved cuddle on the floor of the Electro.  Jack wondered if the cinema would reopen again after what happened, and he certainly hoped so.  He doubted that the same thing would occur again; it would need a specific set of circumstances for the Night Travellers to return.

Plus, they had the flask. 

Ianto had suggested that they hand it over to the Cardiff coven for disposal, and Jack had thought that a wonderful idea.  They didn’t have the means to deal with it except to shut it up in the Secure Archives, which was where it was going until Jack would get it into the proper hands.  The witches of the coven could disenchant it, and that would keep it from ever being used again.

Ianto was making notes on the flask for the digital Archives, leaning over the desk and putting that fine human ass on display.  Jack didn’t know if he was doing it on purpose in order to tease him, but once things were done he was going to take that dragon home and show him just how much he appreciated that view.

The victims at the hospital had recovered once they’d gotten their last breaths back from the flask.  Jack had felt such a wave of relief when Deborah’s eyes had blinked, that horrible blank stare gone as she’d coughed herself back to consciousness in his arms.  He’d hugged her tightly, he was so glad she would be alright.  Rhys had volunteered to take her home, and she’d agreed, since her own car had been impounded by the police.  Patrick had ridden along; that man still didn’t own a car.  It was just a good thing that Rhys lived close by to the American.

Toshiko had also gone home, as had Owen.  It had been a long day, and they’d all been exhausted.  The Rift predictor was showing things as all clear for the next two days, so Jack had ordered them all to rest and be ready for the next round of alerts.

It sounded like a plan to Jack, although he didn’t have plans on resting much when he got his dragon home.

He admired the ass in front of him, then said, “The reels of film at Jonathan’s flat?”

Ianto looked up, noticed where Jack’s attention was, and smirked.  “I destroyed it all in the incinerator.”

“That should be an end to it then.”

“I agree.  I don’t think we’ll have the same set of circumstances again.”  The smile slid from his face.  “But it makes you wonder just how many copies there are out there…how many reels of film that have the Night Travellers trapped on them.  How many more of these out there?” He handed Jack the flask, now sealed in a containment bag. 

Jack accepted it, musing over Ianto’s words.  There was no telling just how many cans of film were out there, in garages or archives, cellars or storage units.  The Night Travellers could still be out there, waiting their chance to escape.

Still, Ianto was correct…it would take certain things happening in order to release them once more.  The thing was, he thought the dragon was being just a bit optimistic.  Cardiff was chock full of buildings that have been steeped in Rift energy.  Who knew if that mixture of Rift and magic couldn’t happen once more? 

They couldn’t go borrowing trouble, though.  They’d keep a lookout, of course, for any sign of the Night Travellers returning.  But until those signs came, they’d do what they always did: protect Cardiff as best they could.

And next time, if it did happen again, they’d be ready.

 

_fin_

 

 


End file.
